


satisfaction is the agent

by Pares (kormantic)



Category: due South
Genre: Bathroom Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-06
Updated: 2003-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:25:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9299996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kormantic/pseuds/Pares
Summary: When she opened her eyes again, Fraser's face was gleaming as though he'd been oiled, and his mouth hung open, soft and loose.





	

She was fascinated by the flush of his cheeks, the tension of his eyebrows, the way he sweated like a child: tiny beads of perspiration on his smooth upper lip, across the bridge of his nose.

His eyes remained closed, his mouth tight with concentration.

She could see the reflection of her own palm in the glass as she braced herself with her right hand. In the mirror was a reversed twin with her own wide eyes and hectic face, high spots of color in her cheeks under the still-smooth patina of her makeup, her un-kissed lipstick.

Even with her skirt rucked high around her hips, the sink was strangely comfortable against her legs: it had been finished with a roll of polished wood, so no sharp edge dug into her skin, and it was low enough to rest her knee on when Fraser spread her thighs. She could hear her hair smear against the glass of the medicine cabinet, and saw the cloud of her ragged breath condense there.

He had made almost no sound. For the first time, she heard a low, abbreviated grunt as he pushed into her.

In the mirror she saw an angry blonde in an expensive suit, with a Mountie's arm strapped around her ribcage, just below her breasts. His other hand held her hip for leverage, and his motion was slow, economical, rhythmic-- and frustrating.

Her left hand kneaded Fraser's forearm spasmodically; he'd pushed the sleeves of his Henley up and she'd been glad to let her nails bite into his bared flesh.

She didn't like him; she'd never liked him. Rocking her hips again, Stella sought more pressure against her mons, almost sliding against the unforgiving surface of the sink counter. She let out a small, frustrated groan like a cough and Fraser held still behind her.

At the first, his arm had come around her like the safety bar on some kind of carnal carnival ride, and now she pulled, then pushed his hand toward to the slick skin between her thighs.

He hid his face against her hair and moaned, a sound shockingly loud in the small confines of the darkly paneled bathroom, and she felt his fingers sink against her flesh. The hand on her hip became an arm slung around her hips, dragging her close and pinning her with sensation: penetration and finally some--

Stella's head lolled back as two of Fraser's fingers petted her clit with efficient strokes, just too lightly. Gritting her teeth, she pushed back against him, earning another startled moan.

When she opened her eyes again, Fraser's face was gleaming as though he'd been oiled, and his mouth hung open, soft and loose.

His careful, modulated fucking was losing its grace, and she pressed back against him again, but precariously, as she had only one high heel for leverage. She wondered briefly if she'd find her underwear and pantyhose neatly folded on the toilet seat when they were done. If they were ever done. If he'd let her come--

The precise touch between her legs became a dragging see-saw against her swollen clit; it would have been painful if she hadn't been so wet. As it was, she could only toss her head and swallow audibly as he worked her with more passion and less finesse.

She could feel him mouth her shoulder, his breath hot through the tissue of her blouse. Now, another soft grunt, and her thighs were trembling, shaking with sensation and strain.

"God damn it--" she muttered, bucking sharply.

"Please--" It was the only word he'd said since he'd let her in the consulate.

"Make me--" She let out a little hiss, and bit her lower lip. She was boiling over, frantically unsatisfied, half-climbing him as she arched her back and clutched at his hand. "Make me come, get it? Make me come. Make me come, constable."

He set his cheek against her hair. His knitted eyebrows spoke of a willingness to provide her with that outcome, but his body stammered against hers and then re-set, and it was back to the mechanical plunging he'd begun with. She wanted to shrug him off and finish already, but instead she dug her nails into the back of his hand, holding it still as she leaned forward, her other hand squeaking on the glass as her sweaty palm skidded down to find a new purchase on the shoulder of the sink. This changed the angle of his penetration and brought enough friction to make her breath catch-- to make her shudder against him and drop her head, so she was blinded by a curtain of her own hair. And there, wedged between him and the cool curves of the sink, in the midst of an uninspiring but perfectly serviceable orgasm, there was a spike so fierce her eyes flew open.

A low, hoarse cry was pressed out of her as Fraser drew her closer and rose on his toes to hold her still, and in that stillness, she felt the tension snap like a rubber band. He pulsed into her and she bit the back of her own wrist to stifle her groan. The bite added an edge of feral satisfaction that made the pleasure stand out in stark relief, and she came a third time.

Still gasping, she felt his weight buckle against her briefly, and she shifted with discomfort before he composed himself and slipped out of her.

Her hands shook slightly as she pushed herself back from the sink and gingerly set her foot down, trying to stand on weak knees. Her left foot was asleep. She looked down at her wrist and tried to tug her sleeve down to hide the mark she'd left: it was a wet, raw red, a bruised ellipse made of small chiseled indentations. She wondered if the lozenge of her watch would cover it.

Fraser's reflection had finally opened his eyes. He looked fuck-drunk and vaguely surprised at himself.

At the consulate door, she could hear Ray's brisk signature two-rap knuckle-dragging knock. Stumbling back, Fraser straightened and ran a hand through his hair, once, twice, plainly agitated.

In the mirror, Stella saw herself smile: fiercely, finally satisfied.


End file.
